There was an interval after men had sung and ladies had played, and a nervous youth had given imitations of popular actors who, it seemed, possessed the same tone of voice, and practised identical gestures. The curtain went up on an outdoor scene. A lady was reclining in a hammock.
"Why, it's Miss Loriner," whispered Gertie.
A man in tweeds came on backwards and collided with the hammock.
"Who's this supposed to be, Clarence?"
"Young Douglass. Made up with a beard."
An apology was made for the accident, and with the rapidity that the drama exacts in matters of the heart, the bearded gentleman was in less than fifteen minutes deeply in love with the lady of the hammock. "And if I promise to worship you all my life, will you then give me my heart's desire?" The lady, with a dexterous movement, came out of her resting-place. "You must first make a name in the world, and, hand upon heart, show yourself worthy of a woman's love!"
"What's the matter, Gertie?" asked Clarence Mills.
"I've made a—made a fearful muddle of nearly everything."
"Buck up!" urged Clarence. "Don't let people see you giving way."
The bearded man was leaving when the lady bethought herself to inquire his name; he proved to be none other than Mr. Francis Mainright, the well-known African explorer; and after a few more words the curtain came down on an affianced couple, with applause from all parts of the hall.